


Man Gone Mad

by MysticPuma



Series: Sherlock One-shots [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunken escapades occur, M/M, Sherlock is bored, They go out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticPuma/pseuds/MysticPuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is bored... John suggests a night out at the pub. For once... Sherlock obliges. </p><p>(A.N. Not my best of summaries, but I am proud of the actual story :))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"John..."

Silence.

"John."

Silence.

"JOHN!"

"What?" John groaned, turning from his newspaper to stare at his flatmate.

"I'm bored."

John rolled his eyes, and returned to reading his newspaper. "You're always bored." he muttered. Sherlock, the consulting detective John called his friend, hadn't had a case in THREE WEEKS. It was a new record, and Sherlock's mental health was deteriorating because of it. He was thinner than ever, but neither John nor Mrs Hudson could make him eat.

"Please, John."

"We're not playing Cluedo."

"Anything? I need something! My brain is _rotting_!" Sherlock cried, flipping so he was upside down again. John sighed and folded his newspaper up, placing it on the small table next to his chair.

"Like what?" he asked, resting his elbows on his knees, and his head on his hands.

"I don't know... Something..." Sherlock muttered. John couldn't suppress the small chuckle at the sight of his flatmate upside down, his curly hair dangling from his head in a dark brown mass.

"Anything I suggest will be boring to you." John said seriously. It usually was the case. But right now, the look in Sherlock's eyes said anything was better than sitting here doing nothing. "Fine... How about we go to the pub? We could invite Lestrade?"

"Okay!" Sherlock cried, jumping out of the chair. Even Sherlock Holmes went stir crazy, and he hadn't even done the shopping. He'd literally been sitting there for three weeks. It was a wonder that his joints hadn't frozen up. Sherlock swept into his room to change into normal clothes (yes, he'd been in his silk dressing gown for three weeks...) and John grabbed his phone.

"Hey, Greg. You free? Oh, I was wondering if you wanted to join Sherlock and I for a drink? Yes, Sherlock's coming. No, it's not a case. We haven't had a case in three weeks... Right. See you there? Great, bye!"

Sherlock came out in his usual smart dress. He was wearing the purple shirt. The one that always seemed to be struggling to hold itself together over Sherlock's chest. John stared for a moment.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Bit smart for the pub, isn't it?" John replied. Sherlock sighed, and pulled the top two buttons open.

"Better?"

John's heart stopped for a moment. Sherlock was listening to him...?

"Y-yeah..." he said, grabbing his coat. "Greg's meeting us there."

"Okay." Sherlock smiled and swung his coat around his shoulders, pulling his scarf on swiftly afterwards. "Shall we?"

John stared at him for a moment. Sherlock was going to the pub. Sherlock. Was. Going. To. The. PUB!

John shook his head to clear it, before following Sherlock as he hurried down the stairs and out of the door. Mrs Hudson called after them, but both of them were far too eager to leave the flat to answer her.

They marched down the road towards the pub. There wasn't much point getting a taxi when the pub was a few streets away. Sherlock walked with a purpose John hadn't seen in weeks. He smiled. It was good to see Sherlock doing something again. But he was worried about how he'd take to alcohol. As far as John knew, Sherlock had never drank any alcohol before. He hadn't even had any champagne at Christmas... John's face twisted at the thought of Sherlock dancing on a table…

"Sherlock. Have you ever had alcohol before?" he blurted out, before he realised how stupid the question probably was. Sherlock must have had alcohol before…

"No." Sherlock said simply. John's eyes widened.

"Really?"

"It held no appeal for me."

"But… but…" John couldn't think what to say.

"What? Are you really surprised?"

"But you've had cocaine." Was all John could utter. Sherlock shrugged.

"It's different."

"But…"

"Alcohol isn't illegal."

"You only had cocaine because it's illegal…?" John was shocked. Sherlock went around solving crimes and helping the police, but he took something just because it was illegal?

"It's not that surprising John. Just because I'm on the side of the angels, that doesn't make me one of them. I hate Scotland Yard, and every other useless police force. I just find the cases interesting. Sometimes." Sherlock explained. John chuckled. "What?"

"Nothing."

"John." Sherlock said darkly, as he turned his head to stare at his companion.

"It's just funny that you act like you're all unique and special, when really you're just a regular rebel like everybody else." John chuckled again.

"I'm not like everybody else!" Sherlock argued.

"Yes you are!" John teased, beginning to guffaw. Sherlock seethed. John ignored him, still laughing as they entered the pub. He saw Greg at the counter already. "Woah, how fast were you?"

"I have a car." Greg chuckled.

"Fair enough. But we barely live three streets away." John muttered. Greg just smiled.

"I haven't been here long."

"Oh, okay."

"So…" Greg started. "Sherlock came?"

"Yeah… I know. Weird." John chuckled as he sat down next to Greg. Sherlock just stood behind them, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Sherlock. Are you going to sit down?" John asked.

"Hm? Oh. Yes…" Sherlock muttered, sitting gingerly next to John.

"Are you alright?" Greg asked.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I think he's actually feeling awkward." John suggested. Sherlock scowled at him. "Come on, 'Lock. You _are_ a Sociopath."

"I'm not awkward."

"Really…?" Greg muttered sarcastically, before turning to ask the bartender for a beer. "You two going to have anything?"

"I'll have the same as him." John told the bartender, pointing at Greg. "Sherlock?" he turned to face his friend. "Why don't you try a beer?"

"Oh… Go on then. I'll have the same…" Sherlock muttered dryly. John smiled.

"Has he never had beer before?" Greg asked.

"He's never had _alcohol_ before…" John corrected. Greg's eyes widened.

"Really!"

"Really."

"It's not that shocking!" Sherlock snapped.

"It is a little…" Greg muttered. Sherlock sighed.

"You find the most boring things interesting Lestrade."

"Call me Greg, please, Sherlock… I'm not at work."

"So?"

"Do you hear me calling you 'Holmes'?"

"No."

"So call me Greg."

"Fine."

John grimaced. He hoped this wasn't going to be the highlight of the evening.

Soon enough, their drinks arrived. John and Greg laughed at Sherlock's grimace at the smell of the beer. They forced him to actually drink it after about twenty minutes, and he downed it in one, before ordering another. By the time John and Greg had had two beers each, Sherlock had had eight. John stared at his companion, who was grinning like a fool.

"I think you've had enough now, 'Lock…" he muttered.

"John." Greg whispered to him. "Why do I have the feeling this was a bad idea?" John grimaced as Sherlock smiled giddily. It had become clear at four that Sherlock couldn't hold his alcohol well. John figured that was because he'd never had any before. Then, the pandemonium began…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for drunk Sherlock XD

"Ok! It's karaoke night tonight! Can we get some volunteers?" shouted the announcer, and John could swear he heard him add a "this time…" on the end. Apparently karaoke wasn't very popular, and it probably wouldn't be tonight eith- Oh no. NO! John's stomach flipped as he saw Sherlock get up onto the stage. Despite his obvious lack of skill with holding alcohol, and therefore his extreme drunkenness, Sherlock was still as graceful as ever, and John was staring again, jealous of his agility. He dropped his head into his hands as several women cheered for him. The effect that shirt had on people was shocking… Especially with the two topmost buttons undone.

John grimaced when the random song selector (so _that_ was why nobody volunteered…) gave Sherlock "Love Story" by Taylor Swift. Greg was trying, and failing, to stifle his laughter at the sight. He looked so sober, but he and John both knew he really wasn't. John wondered for a moment if Sherlock would remember any of this in the morning. He hoped for his own sake he wouldn't.

After several different songs, including "I kissed a girl", "Girls just wanna have fun", "Shake it out", "Total Eclipse of the heart", "In the Air Tonight", "Satisfied" and "Cupid's got a shotgun", Sherlock finally came down from the stage. John breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock may be an amazing singer, but the more he sang, the more he was likely to remember, and the more likely it was he'd kill John. But then, it got worse.

People gathered around the bar, begging Sherlock for another song.

"Please!"

"Come on! Just one more!"

"Leave him alone." Greg commanded desperately, putting on his D.I. voice.

"No! WE WANT MORE!"

Sherlock smiled.

"One more then!" he shouted, to a rousing cheer. John turned to the bartender.

"Aren't you going to do anything?"

"No! This is great for business!" the bartender grinned. John face-palmed as Sherlock clambered onto the stage again, still as graceful as ever.

"Give 'im a slow one!" cried a guy in the crowd.

"Alright, alright!" said the announcer with a smile. He pressed the button, and "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri came on. As Sherlock sang, even John sank into the dream-like stupor of the other pub-goers. Some people began to cry with the beauty of how the song poured from Sherlock's lips.

As he came up to the chorus, Sherlock's blue-grey eyes swept the room, as if searching for a recipient to the song. When his eyes landed on John's, John felt a leap in his chest and a flush on his face. Greg looked at him.

"I have died everyday waiting for you." Sherlock sang. John felt a tear well up in his eyes at the sheer emotion in the line. Sherlock was being emotional. Sure, he was drunk, but it was still emotion…

"Darling don't be afraid…" The way his voice caressed the words, as though they were delicate flowers…

"…I have loved you for a thousand years." A tear slid down John's cheek. Sherlock's face was so serious. There wasn't even a hint of mockery or fun in it. The emotion was raw on his face as he sang, and John's heart nearly broke at the depth of his eyes. Even from across the room, John could see the sincerity. But Sherlock was drunk. He was off his head. This was the opposite of Sherlock… And that was what made John's heart break so much. Because…

"I'll love you for a thousand more…" He'd never mean it. As the song went on, John felt tears roll from his eyes like waterfalls, and he felt them stain his shirt as he cried. Sherlock's eyes stayed glued to John's. As Sherlock came to the end of the song, John couldn't take it any longer.

"I need some air…" he told Greg, without looking at him, and he finally tore his eyes away from Sherlock's, fresh tears pouring down his cheeks as he stood and fled the pub. Sherlock frowned, but continued singing for the sake of the crowd, as Greg stood and followed John out of the door.

"John? What is it?"

"N-nothing. I'm fine. Just feeling a bit… ill."

"No. It's no illness. What's wrong?" Greg asked, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"It doesn't matter." Then Greg realised.

"Oh… You… Do you like him?" Greg asked gently. He'd had the suspicion for a while, but had had no reason to confirm it. John stopped for a moment, before nodding very slightly. "Come on. Calm down." Greg said, with a comforting smile as he handed John a tissue. "Ever think he might feel the same?"

"Sherlock? Feel the same? Never." John stated.

"Did you SEE the way he looked at you while he was singing?" Greg exclaimed.

"That means nothing. He's drunk."

"Come on. No point spoiling the evening."

"True…" John muttered, wiping his eyes, and then following Greg back into the pub. Sherlock had finished singing and was walking back towards the bar with an uncanny grace. John was sure he couldn't be _that_ drunk… Sherlock glanced towards them, and his direction immediately shifted towards them, his eyes locking with John's again. It was all John could do not to burst into tears and run out of the door again.

"John. What's wrong?" asked Sherlock. John stared. "John?"

"Huh? Nothing." John forced a smile.

"Oh. That's good." Sherlock smiled. John assumed he'd been convinced, which was a little saddening, but he smiled back, sitting back down at the bar. Amazingly, Sherlock didn't have any more beer. Something seemed to be on his mind…

"Are you okay?" John asked after about half an hour of him talking to Greg, while Sherlock sat in silence. Sherlock looked up with the most adorable look of confused innocence on his face that John had ever seen. His heart leapt.

"I'm… fine." Sherlock hesitated. John frowned.

"You sure?" Greg asked, before John could.

"Yeah. Just a second." Sherlock said, before disappearing into the men's toilets.

John and Greg continued their conversation from earlier, but occasionally one of them would mention Sherlock, or ask what was taking him so long. At that point, they would both frown and glance at the door he'd gone through. After twenty minutes, Greg suggested John went to check on him. John nodded and stood, walking towards the door to the toilets. As he entered, he saw Sherlock bent over a sink, with his head in his hands.

"'Lock?" asked John. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock said nothing. He straightened up, brushing off his shirt, which still seemed to be straining; John struggled not to look. He turned to face John, and their eyes locked together again. John felt the tears, but pushed them back down. However, he couldn't stop the slight blush that crept to his cheeks, and the slight increase in his heart rate. If Sherlock hadn't noticed it, he was _really_ drunk. Sherlock stepped forward, so they were inches apart, and he looked down on John. John gulped. He nearly said "What?" but he didn't want to destroy the moment, the silence which had fallen over them both. Before he could do anything else though, Sherlock _did_ break the silence. With one action, one simple act that sent John's head into a whirlwind of confusion and pain.

Sherlock kissed him.

His back bent as he cupped John's face with his right hand, and he gently touched their lips together… John's heart went crazy, and he thought he might faint. But he didn't. Then, Sherlock raised one finger to his lips, miming "shhh", a smile playing on his lips, and he left. John stood there, shell-shocked. He raised his hand to touch his own lips, and felt tears slide down his cheeks. Tears of joy? No. Tears of confusion? Yes…

When John came out, Greg had left. Sherlock explained Greg had said he had an early start for work, and had to go. John nodded.

"Let's go home…" John muttered.

"Oh, okay." Sherlock said. He sounded like a child. He'd become a teenager, maybe even younger, mentally. His mind, under the influence of alcohol, had let all its wall crumble down, and it had regressed to the time before he'd locked his emotions and hormones away behind those walls. Sherlock followed John like a puppy, keeping exactly one metre behind him. Occasionally John would look round, just to check he was still there. He always was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should not be uploading this... I should be doing coursework... I'm far too stressed for that though XD

The next morning, John got up as normal, and got his tea and toast, with jam of course. Sherlock was nowhere. John sighed and went into Sherlock's room. Sherlock was awake at least. He was sat, cross-legged on his bed, with his head in his hands.

"Hang-over?" John asked, chuckling.

"No. Memory." Was all sherlock said.

"You don't have a head-ache?"

"No."

"But you don't remember anything?" John asked, hopeful the answer was that he didn't.

"No… I don't."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I never forget…"

"It's probably just unimportant information, which you've deleted."

"No. There's something of significance that I've forgotten!" Sherlock yelled. John flinched. "Something stupid. I did something, didn't I? When I was drunk?" Sherlock turned to look John in the eyes. John looked away.

"No. Nothing to report." He muttered. He turned to the door. He let his head turn to Sherlock, who was now frowning. "Tea?" he asked. Sherlock nodded, still frowning, and John left. He leant against the wall a moment. He remembered. But then, he hadn't been off his head… He sighed, and made Sherlock's tea. The mundane task eased his mind, and he'd nearly forgotten about it, until he turned to the living room and saw Sherlock sprawled on the sofa in his silk dressing gown. John blushed, and gulped, before managing to shakily place Sherlock's mug on the table beside him. He immediately downed it.

"Why can't I remember, John?" Sherlock asked.

"You had eight pints…" John muttered dully. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Eight? That's a lot, isn't it?" he asked. John nodded.

"I had two."

"Do you remember what I did?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me then?"

"Nope."

"But John!"

"No."

Sherlock groaned, steepling his hands as he tried to enter his mind palace.

"I'm surprised you don't have a headache…" John muttered, sitting down and taking a gulp of his tea.

"Should I?"

"You had eight pints! I get a headache after four…"

"I'm different."

"True."

"PLEASE TELL ME!"

"No!" John said, stubbornly, standing up and walking into the kitchen to wash his mug.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to remember." John said bluntly. "I'm going shopping, we need more milk.." he said, before grabbing his coat and hurrying down the stairs. Sherlock heard the door slam shut downstairs.

Sherlock steepled his hands again and entered his mind palace. Everywhere was fine, except the room for last night. The room was locked, and the door was fuzzy. Sherlock fumbled for the key, and finally found it, turning it in the lock and stepping into the room. Everything was hazy, covered in a thick fog. He waved his hand around in front of him, trying to clear the haze. He saw the eight pints now. He'd cleared enough to see that. He saw John, Lestrade and himself laughing. That was at two pints. Six pints later… Sherlock felt the hormones and emotions he'd repressed for so many years, as they surged up to the surface, breathing the open air for the first time since he'd locked them all away.

And suddenly, everything rushed back to clobber him over the head. His eyes opened suddenly and he gasped. He remembered everything…

Two hours later, John came back.

"You took your time…" Sherlock tried to sound normal. It wasn't easy.

"Sorry, took a detour." John explained, beginning to pack the shopping into the cupboards and fridge.

"Oh." Sherlock knew why. He didn't want to see him. He didn't want to look at him. He was embarrassed, ashamed, horrified…

"Is something wrong, 'Lock?" John asked, peeking around the corner. "No snide comments…?" he asked, confused.

"No. I'm fine." Sherlock said bluntly.

"Don't lie."

"John. I- I remembered…"

"Oh." John froze, before slowly closing the fridge door and putting the milk in his hand on the table. He turned to Sherlock. He found looking into his eyes difficult still…

"John. I'm sorry." Sherlock said. John gulped.

"It's fine." He said, returning to putting things away, this time at double speed.

"John?"

"What?"

"Are you mad?"

"No…"

"You seem upset with me. I never meant to… I just… Don't let this ruin our friendship… Please, John…" Sherlock was struggling to hold back his emotions now, and a tear slipped down his cheek. John turned to him.

"I don't know if I can go back to normal, Sherlo-" he stopped. "Are you crying?"

Sherlock wiped his eyes hurriedly. "No."

"Sherlock… What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Sherlock…" And John forced himself to do it. He locked eyes with Sherlock. It pained him, but he hoped it would make him open up...

"I don't want to lose you because I did something stupid, John." Sherlock said, holding back the tears.

"Sherlock… I can't go back to normal after that!" John exclaimed. He knew he sounded harsh, but Sherlock was _crying_... Sherlock Holmes! He never cried and John honestly didn't know what to do... "You kissed me!"

"And I'm sorry! I don't know what I was thinking… I just… Let my emotions control me." He said.

"What?"

"I won't repeat myself."

"Your emotions…? Did you actually WANT to?" John asked. Sherlock's eyes widened, and although he'd tried to rebuild his walls, his cheeks flushed and he gulped. "Sherlock. Did you want to kiss me?" John repeated.

"Yes. I have for a while now." Sherlock admitted, finally. John froze, unsure how to react. Did he jump for joy? Weep? Kiss Sherlock then and there? What could he do…? "John?"

"I… I didn't realise."

"Sorry… I shouldn't have said it… I'll just… Go." Sherlock said, standing and walking towards his room. John grabbed his arm. "John?"

"Sherlock." And John reached up and kissed Sherlock.

"I thought you… didn't… weren't…" Sherlock couldn't finish his sentence.

"I wasn't…" Wasn't. That was the key word. Wasn't.

He _wasn't_ gay. He _wasn't_ in love with Sherlock Holmes. But now he _was_. Sherlock couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face. John smiled too.

"Why didn't you say something?" Sherlock asked.

"Why do you think?"

"Hm?"

"I quote… 'I consider myself married to my work'. Sherlock, I thought you would never care." John explained.

"Oh. Well, I can divorce my work… If you'd like." Sherlock offered, with a smile.

"That'd be nice." John said, smiling.

"Done." Sherlock said, leaning down to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit the ending could be better... And they could be less OOC... but oh well :) Hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaand I'm just gonna leave that hanging in the air :P


End file.
